There's No Going Back
by s3rp3nts
Summary: At the tail end of "A Little Faith,"  correction!  a/k/a The One Where Sam & Andy thankfully get together.


**There's No Going Back**

At the tail end of "On the Double," a/k/a The One Where Sam & Andy thankfully get together.

New story, new author. Comments welcome, but it may be a while before/if I respond. CONSTRUCTIVE criticism, please, as I am actually interested in becoming a better fic writer.

Rating: **M (incl sexual situations and possibly language)**

Author: s3rp3nts

_Desperate. _It's something he's felt only in connection with the woman tucked between his thighs - "_finally_," his subconscious adds - where he's wanted her time and again. The shadow where her jawline meets her neck draws him in, the scent of her body pooled there just over a pulse point. It's intoxicating, she is intoxicating and he can't get enough, open-mouthed kisses, the feel of her smooth neck beneath his jaw, God, he _wants_. Parts of him are warring with each other: the part that wants to strip her bare and just _have her_and the other, cooler Swarek who swears there's time. "I don't want to go back," was more than a throwaway line; coming from McNally it was a promise and sealed with a kiss.

By now Sam's hands had gone shaky with adrenaline and Andy's jeans were not helping. "Your ass looks incredible in these jeans," he rasps, leaning back and releasing her. "Lose 'em."

It quickly becomes a strip tease, Andy grinding on his thigh, lifting her hips to drag the skin-tight denim down, shifting left to right in a sly, knowing imitation of what they were about to do designed to make him lose it. And when he reaches to re-take control, slapping him away. "You're just going to tangle my legs and it'll take twice and long!" She smiled at him, lowering her lashes. "If you want to help, pull at the ankles."

_The ankles_, he could do that. Socks first, then the reveal of the smooth length of Andy's legs. She rested on her elbows, quiet and unmoving, letting Sam look to his fill. "C'mere," she whispers, shaking her hair back over her shoulders, holding out a hand to him. Stripping swiftly to the skin, he obeys.

Sam feels degrees hotter than she does; Andy shivers with pleasure as he rocks between her spread legs and they touch, belly to belly, legs entangled thigh to ankle. "Cold?" Sam whispers, nudging his way beneath her chin, easing her head back with a hand at her nape.

"N-n-n-o," she claims, shivering again at the touch of his hot mouth at the point of her collar bone. "Just sensitive." Her hips buck at the feel of Sam's teeth at the juncture of neck and shoulder and she grips his biceps to anchor herself.

"MmmmmcNally..." He licks the same spot, then blows, earning another brush of Andy's hips against his aching cock. "Where else...?" Sam draws questing fingers down her spine, pausing to release the clasps of her bra and tugging it away.

With him? _Everywhere. _His fingers trail fire in their wake, spark fairy lights behind her snapped-shut lids. The feel of his mouth hovering over her nipple causes it to tighten, and then Sam's there suckling, sending her hands twisting for purchase in the sheets. Sam licks and nuzzles his way to the other peaked nipple, distracting her from the hand that makes it way to her core.

Sam's roving fingers pause momentarily - the scrap of mesh and cotton covering her is the last barrier between them. Andy feels Sam's faint tremor as he draws her briefs and away, losing them in the bank of covers at the foot of the bed. His long fingers return, drawing up the inside of her thigh, teasing and tickling, thumb finally finding the place she most wants him to be. Andy's head falls back limply as Sam slips one digit, then a second inside her, stroking in counterpoint to what he is doing to her clit. "Tell me what you want, Andy," he murmurs, even as she tightens helplessly around his slow stroking. He looks up in time to catch the fiery blush that streaks its way across her cheeks, loving that he can do this to her, _Hell_, he thinks, _loving _her_._

"I want you to come here," she whispers, tugging weakly at the thick wrist between her thighs, the sculpted bicep she's clutched off and on. And he does, advancing over her, covering her with his greater weight. He lingers, suddenly lost in the feel and sight of her slender body beneath him, all curves and soft skin. So it's Andy who grasps Sam's silken cock in her hand, positions him and draws him down with a hand at the small of his back. "Ohhhhhh...," she sighs as he rocks into her, gentle but insistent. Her knees draw up to cup the growing sensation and soon it is perfect: The rasp of Sam's breath in her ear, the slick glide of him inside her, the weight of him over her...

Sam mimicked the slow gliding below with his tongue, sometimes stroking deeply, then shallow, until Andy writhed impatiently beneath him. She levered her hips upward, trying to force his rhythm, until he bore her down, capturing and pinning her wrists in one hand, the other making soothing passes from her breast to hip. "Wait," he whispered. "Let me...," he breathed against her ear, adding "shhh," at her panting, wordless protest. "Let me." Andy fought, wanting it faster, harder, but Sam's pace and grip were relentless, holding her hostage to pleasure, til it spiraled out of control, and fractured in flashes of light. Riding her gently till her spasms faded, Sam found his own release in a few last thrusts into Andy's sated body.

For once, questions didn't crowd McNally's head. She felt weighted, every bone in her body turned warm and liquid with satisfaction. And exhaustion. Sam arranged her, rolled her to one side, and tucked in behind her, his chest hair pleasantly tickling her back. Andy was a little embarrassed by their mutual warm stickiness, but not to enough for her to give up the nest of blankets Sam pulled over them. When his hand drifted down her hip, she caught it instead, drawing over her taut belly and weaving her fingers with his. "mmmmmmmm."

Sam nipped her ear with his teeth, inducing a lethargic wiggle. "Ah, McNally?"

"mmmmmYeah?"

"Are you purring?"

"Maybe." Andy elbows him, and not gently. "I can hear you smirking," she mumbles sleepily. "Don't ruin it."

_Yeah_, he thinks to himself, _don't ruin this_. "This" being feel of a limp, satiated Andy McNally in his arms, strands of her dark hair tickling his nose and lips where they are buried in the nape of her neck. "I'll try not to," he whispers.

"Whaaa...?"

"Nothin', McNally. Go to sleep." For an hour, maybe, so he can hold her like this, and pretend this great, glowing feeling in his chest can last.


End file.
